


Daddy, tell me a story?

by brethilaki



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), projecting my own feelings on the characters because what else am I supposed to do at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brethilaki/pseuds/brethilaki
Summary: Just another fic about the The End.





	Daddy, tell me a story?

**Author's Note:**

> This is not necessarily what I wanted to write but probably what I needed. It's not a fix-it, just processing, maybe it will be what someone else needs, too.

_Once upon a time, there was a very rich man. He was very smart, but very lonely. Then one day, the man was kidnapped by evil people. They put him in a dark cave and made him work for them, because he was very smart and good at building things. They wanted him to build weapons so they could hurt other people._

_In the cave there lived a kind old man. He was kind to the rich man and helped him escape. Instead of making weapons, they made a suit of armor to protect rich man while he escaped. But while he was running away, they caught the kind old man who had helped him, and the rich man couldn’t help him back._

_When he got back home, the rich man decided he didn’t want to be like the evil people who had kidnapped him. He wanted to be like the kind man who had helped him. So he decided to use his armor to protect other people, rather than himself._

 

* * *

 

“The hell... Pepper? Kid - Peter? Hey, what’s - ?”

Tony’s body - his whole arm, the side of his face - had gone numb, but at least they’d stopped hurting. So that was nice.

Or at least better.

Actually, probably not a good sign, but they could deal with that after…

“J - stop - can everyone just stop looking at me like that? For a second? Please?” Tony sighed, trying to take stock of what must be festering under the sudden numbness. His head and chest were surprisingly light, so no panic attack. He didn’t feel dizzy, either, just - well, pretty good, all things considered.

“Um, okay. Yeah,” he mumbled, mind racing to catch up. That felt weird. He wasn’t used to being left behind. Mentally. “Rest. Sounds good, Pep. Hey, can I get a little…?”

He shifted where he was sprawled against the wreckage of ship.

Lifted an arm.

Bent his leg.

His body moved without protest. Like picking up an empty bag he’d thought was full of bricks, and he startled at the ease of it.

“You know what, never mind, I’m…”

No one had moved to help him. They weren’t looking at him anymore, either.

“…good. Guys?”

Tony hoisted himself into a squat, hands against his knees and pushed himself up to an uncertain, lopsided stance. Leaning on his good leg, posture truly atrocious, and still no one would stand. No one would make eye contact.

“Look, I know I said… 'don’t look,' but this is kinda…”

Pepper’s eyes opened, finally, but they were just staring at his feet. Red, and a little wet - her eyes, not his feet.

“Pep? Hey, eyes up here.”

The quip fell flat, even in his own ears. He took a step toward his wife, slowly tracing her line of sight. “What are you even…”

 

Tony stopped.

His mind, clear and sharp again, took in the sight of his own still corpse - lying where he’d apparently left it propped against the ruin of Thanos’ artillery - and the pieces all snapped into place.

“‘Rest,’” he echoed, with a dry, humorless laugh. The corner of his mouth twitched up, then down, and his whole face crumpled with it.

“We did it,” he whispered, throat tight and suddenly very sore. It was the only thing left he could feel, the psychosomatic ache of unchanneled grief.

Or, not somatic… psychospiritual?

The ache spread back behind his eyes. Or where it felt like his eyes should be.

“I did - _shit_. Shit! This wasn’t supposed to - ” But he’d known it would. When the glove slipped over his hand and crackled through his cells like lightning. It hurt, on an atomic level, like nothing he’d ever experienced in years of painful body mods and stubbornly refusing medical treatment.

It felt like death.

Around him, they were gathering themselves. Their bodies intact. Their souls tethered to their intact bodies. Alive.

The relief washed through him in a rush. They were all alive.

Next they would gather him. His body. What was left.

It wasn’t all he’d left them. They’d find the rest eventually, the recordings. His _ex tempore_ will. Now his hindsight bias was telling him he had known it, it had been supposed to happen like this all along.

“Tony,” said a voice very close, it seemed, to his auditory cortex. “I’m sorry.”

“You knew,” he answered, scanning the field of battle, his tone resigned, not quite accusatory but not quite neutral. Tony found him, the Damn Wizard, staring straight at him with that same knowing light in his eyes. “Of course you knew.”

His lips didn’t move when he spoke.

“I told you - ”

“I know,” Tony cut him off, allowing himself to be annoyed. He was dead, surrounded by loved ones, friends and family, and the only person he could talk to was this asshole.

“I’m sorry,” repeated this asshole.

“Yeah, well,” Tony grumbled, nodding to Pepper, Rhodey. The kid. “Tell that to them. Tell that - ” the ache behind his eyes throbbed. “Tell that to Morgan. My daughter, tell...”

“I will.”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you want me to say. I’ll tell them.”

“I - ” Tony’s mind reeled. What could he possibly - there was so much. He tried sort through it, distill it in his mind before he spoke. What had he left out of the recordings? But the words kept accumulating, a torrent of them, and he couldn’t hold them back.

“You might want to write this down.”

“I’ll remember.”

 

* * *

 

“What - what do you mean?” hissed Pepper, a little frazzled, a little frantic behind her facade. “Oh my god, is he - is he here _now_?”

She wasn’t proud of the way her voice broke when she asked it. She tried to forgive herself for that. She knew in her head she didn’t need to be strong for _everyone_ , certainly not for this man, but it was something her heart was still trying to learn. She’d learned to be vulnerable in front of Tony, but even that had taken time, trust. A lot of trust.

“I’m sorry, no.”

She tried to breathe, maybe more than a little frantic. Her nerves felt frayed.

“Then where…”

She closed her eyes to focus on the breath. Air rushed in past her heart to fill her lungs. She still felt empty. She pushed it out.

“No,” she decided. “It doesn’t matter. Does it? It doesn’t. Right?”

She searched for the answer in his eyes, not sure she wanted to hear it out loud. He watched her watch him.

“No,” she determined finally, “not now,” and she sighed: “come on, she’s in her room. She’ll be about done with her nap.”

 

* * *

 

“Morgan, sweetie?”

It was a long time ago that Daddy told her good night, probably a thousand hours, maybe a hundred thousand. She had a bad dream but Uncle Happy said he’s coming home soon and Mommy wasn’t home either. But it was at least another hundred hours now, so he wasn’t coming home soon, but Mommy already came home. She sat on Morgan’s bed and brushed her hair with her fingers, not pulling too hard because it didn’t hurt.

“Shit!” Morgan said.

Mommy said, “Morgan, this is Daddy’s friend Mr. Strange.” Maybe she didn’t hear. Mommy said, “Mr. Strange talked to Daddy and he wants to tell you something. Okay?”

Morgan looked at the ceiling. It was an old man, like Daddy. Morgan tried not to laugh even though he had a funny name, because she was mad.

“Did you know Daddy is dead now?” she said. “That means he can’t talk to you anymore.”

Mr. Strange made a funny face. He hadn’t thought of that, but Morgan was smart. Mommy brushed her hair again, even though it was already brushed.

Mr. Strange got down by the bed so his face wasn’t on the ceiling anymore. Morgan moved her head to see him.

“I talked to your dad… before he died,” said Mr. Strange. “And he told me that the last time he talked to you, you asked him to tell you a story, but he didn’t. He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry for that.”

“He told a really bad story,” Morgan said. Mr. Strange nodded, and it made Morgan feel happy, because he agreed with her.

“Well, he told _me_ he wished that he had told you a different story. He told me _that_ story, and I told him I’d tell it to you.”

“Because he can’t now because he’s dead?”

“Yes.”

Morgan leaned forward, wanting to hear the story.

 

* * *

 

The story started off simple. A kid-friendly, redacted parable that began with “Once upon a time…” and ended with “The End” (though not with “happily ever after”) and had some transparent moral lessons in the middle.

_Once upon a time there was a man. He was very rich and very smart, but rude to the people he loved. Even though he had everything he wanted, he was never really happy._ That kind of thing. The Rich Man learned a lot of Life Lessons and in the end was saved by a little girl.

“But I didn’t save him,” said Morgan, smart enough to understand the metaphor but not old enough yet to really get it. Her mother hugged her close.

 

Then the next time Stephen saw her, when she was a little older - not much but a little - he told her the story again, adding details here and there, things that he figured she would now be mature enough to understand. She never asked any questions when he was telling her the story; but after that, every time she saw him, she wanted to hear it again.

“Mr. Strange! Tell me the story again!”

“Uncle Stephen! I want to hear more of the story!”

Every few years, someone would release a biography. They made a documentary, an exhibit at the Air and Space Museum. A blockbuster biopic. Pepper even published a memoir. But this story was only for Morgan.

 

They had a small gathering on the 25th anniversary. The monument in New York and the crowds that thronged around it were lit red and gold on the TV screen, but there were only a dozen or so of them in the cabin. All old now - except for Peter, Morgan, Clint’s kids - remembering fallen friends.

“You should have seen the look on his face,” Pepper was saying, “when they first met. Oh, I was so sure it would end in a scandal. Or a lawsuit.”

“Weren’t entirely wrong,” Rhodes agreed with a snort.

“No,” said Pepper, “but it didn’t _end_ that way.”

“Auntie Nat would have hung him out to dry if he tried anything, though,” Lila said, breaking an easy silence. “She took shit from no man.”

“She surely did not,” said Clint.

Stephen couldn’t help feeling a little out of place at these gatherings. Like he was intruding on a family affair. Despite his part in the events of a quarter century ago, he’d barely known the man when he was alive - Natasha not at all.

“Uncle Stephen,” Morgan said - almost thirty now, brilliant and strong and living her father’s legacy every day - “Do you think - do you think you could tell any more of the story?”

“Oh… oh, I don’t know,” he faltered, eyes falling as she came over to where he was sitting, a little apart from the rest of the group. “Aren’t you tired of hearing it from me?”

“I - ” it was Morgan’s turn to look shy, and Stephen waited patiently for her to continue. “I always feel - when you’re telling it, I always feel like I’m hearing it from him.” She was crying a little, he noticed with a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his own voice less than level when he spoke, “but there’s nothing more to tell. Morgan... I’ve already told you everything he said.”

“Then tell it again,” said Morgan, without hesitation. “I’ll never get tired of hearing about him. Even if the story stays the same.” Her eyes locked on his, shining.

“Okay,” he whispered. She pulled over a chair and sat there, waiting.

Stephen began:

_Once upon a time…_

**Author's Note:**

> I love you 3000, Tony Stark <3


End file.
